CHAPTER XVIIDIFFICULTIES

Kit owed a great deal to Hendle, and was never backward in admitting that the Squire was his benefactor. When Mrs. Beatson first took service at The Big House, the boy was at school, but she explained to her employer that she could no longer pay fees for his education. Rupert, approving of the bright, intelligent lad, thereupon arranged for the rounding off of his scholastic career, and afterwards paid for his training as an engineer. It was due to the Squire that Kit occupied the excellent position he did in the exploitation and sale of motors. Also it must be stated that young Beatson took every advantage of his opportunities, earning the esteem and approval of all with whom he came into contact. With the Squire's aid and his own brains there was every chance that Kit would succeed in life more than most.

Naturally the boy was deeply grateful to Hendle for his consistent kindness; but he also adored him as an athlete, who possessed all those out-of-door qualities which youths most admire in their seniors. It therefore distressed him greatly when his mother came with her tale of woe. Kit, loyal to the core, would not admit for one instant that his benefactor was in the wrong, especially as he knew only too well what a trying woman the Squire had to deal with. As a parent, Kit had always found Mrs. Beatson uncomfortable, since she invariably used her authority to force him into agreement with herself, however unreasonable her ideas might be. Like many another mother, Mrs. Beatson would not recognize that her son was grown up and had a right to have his own opinions. He was to obey her in all things and do what he was told. Kit thought otherwise, and, as the views of the two clashed, there was always a certain amount of friction between them. Having regard to his mother's aggressive personality, it was extremely hard for young Beatson to obey the fifth commandment.

Rupert knew the boy's difficulties in the adjustment of his filial duties and greatly sympathized with him. Therefore he was by no means surprised when Kit made his appearance at The Big House early on Sunday afternoon. It was to be expected that Mrs. Beatson would tell her son about her dismissal, but when Hendle heard what his visitor had to say he was surprised to hear that the woman had been so frank in her explanation. He made Kit sit down and repeat his story of the interview, then walked up and down the library much perplexed, for the boy, being the son of the woman who had been discharged, it was by no means easy to talk to him. And Rupert was so kind-hearted that it was a positive pain for him to say a word against anyone. Yet what could he say in condonation of Mrs. Beatson's extraordinary behavior? Kit saw the worried look on his hero's face and felt worried himself in consequence. Therefore did he try to smooth matters.

"Of course, sir, I know that my mother is rather unreasonable," he remarked, in a low voice, twisting and turning his straw hat. "I don't quite agree with her views, you know."

Rupert gave the boy an approving glance, as he quite understood how unpleasant was his position. "Your mother has had much trouble in her life, and perhaps her nature is rather warped. What would you like me to do?"

Kit reflected, then spoke up straightly with a flush on his face. "I think it would be better for you to allow mother to go away for a holiday instead of dismissing her at once. While she is away, she can give you notice and can look for another place. In this way her pride will be saved."

"Why should her pride be saved?" asked the Squire hastily and bluntly.

"How can I answer that question, Mr. Hendle?"

"Of course not. I beg your pardon, Kit. I should not have asked it. What you say is very reasonable, and I have every wish to make things easy for your mother. She shall take a holiday, and can leave when she has found a better place."

Kit shook his young head. "She'll never find a better place, sir, or a better friend," he said sadly. "You have been good to her, and more than good to me. I wish mother could see things as I see them, but--but----"

"There! there!" Rupert clapped him on the back. "I know how you feel and what you wish to say. Even if your mother does leave me, Kit, that need make no difference to our friendship."

"It certainly will not," said the young fellow emphatically. "I don't think mother has acted well; nor does Sophy."

"Your mother certainly was very explicit, Kit. I wonder she did not make out a better case for herself."

"Well, you see, Mr. Hendle, mother never thinks that she does wrong. It is a very difficult thing for me to say, since I am her son, but I quite understand why you want her to go. I suggest that she should take a holiday, and that she should give you notice on the plea of finding another place, both to save her pride and to shut people's mouths."

"You think they will gossip--that your mother will talk?"

"I don't think that mother will talk, Mr. Hendle: she is much too frightened to do so, as she knows that she has not acted well. Sophy and I told her so, and gradually she came to see that she had made a mistake. But if you send her away people will ask the reason."

Rupert nodded and straddling on the hearth-rug put his hands behind his back. "And I can't give any reason other than the true one. It is impossible to give that, since it involves danger to other people. I am glad that you persuaded your mother to hold her tongue, Kit, and it is a great relief for me to know that you and Miss Tollart are acting so discreetly."

"We want to help you, sir."

"I don't see how either of you can do that, Kit."

"Why not? We know the story of----"

"From your mother's point of view you know the story," interrupted the Squire hastily, "but she does not know all."

"There is a will, which may disinherit you, I suppose, Mr. Hendle?"

"Oh, yes. The will of John Hendle, leaving everything to the elder branch of the family, represented by Mr. Mallien. I intend to take it to my lawyers to-morrow, after I have seen my cousin."

"Why not surrender the property to your cousin, sir, without taking the will to the lawyers?" questioned Kit shrewdly.

Rupert shook his head. "I wish everything to be done openly."

"But seeing what is involved, Mr. Hendle, isn't there some danger of a scandal if any public statement is made?"

"There is. All the same, if I gave up the property and sneaked away, people would talk, and the truth might come out in a crooked way. I wish it to come out in a straight way, and so intend to act as I say."

"Will you lose everything, sir?"

"I think so, if the will is proved to be legal. Then, Kit, I shall have to come to ask you to get me a situation in that factory of yours."

The boy was greatly distressed. "Oh, Mr. Hendle, don't talk like that. It is wicked to think that a kind-hearted man like you should lose your property. I don't think Mr. Mallien will make such a good use of the money."

"That is his affair, Kit," replied Hendle, with a sigh. "But you may be sure that I shall do all I can do to keep the property. There is a certain Statute of Limitations which may help me. Perhaps Mr. Mallien and I can arrange to divide the money. But what is the use of talking?" Rupert threw himself despondently into a chair. "You can't help me."

"Not so far as regards the property, Mr. Hendle," said Kit earnestly; "but I may be able to help you to clear up the mystery of the murder."

Rupert sat up and stared. "What?"

"Oh, I don't say that I know anything for certain, sir, but I have my suspicions, you know."

"Oh, have you? Who is it you suspect?"

"I shall tell you when you relate to me all details unknown to my mother." Hendle rose again restlessly, and walking up and down, thought deeply. When he paused again before Kit, he had made up his mind to be frank. "I know you are my friend," he said earnestly, "and I know that you are honest and true."

"I am all that," rejoined Beatson emphatically, "especially when there is anything to be done for you, sir. I shall never forget your kindness to me. Anything you say will go no further than Sophy."

"Why Sophy?" asked Rupert suspiciously.

"Because she knows so much that she may as well know all. And her suspicions point in the direction that mine do. She is now with Miss Mallien----"

Rupert uttered an ejaculation. "Not reporting the conversation with your mother, I hope," he said hastily.

"Yes," answered Kit bluntly; "it is better for Sophy to speak to Miss Mallien than to Mr. Mallien."

"Does she--do you--suspect my cousin?"

"No! But Sophy will explain when she brings Miss Mallien here. We arranged to meet here shortly, Mr. Hendle"; and Kit glanced at his watch. "I dare say the two ladies will be here in an hour."

"I didn't want Miss Mallien to know anything," said Hendle, frowning.

"It is absolutely necessary that she should know," said Beatson calmly; "and as she loves you, sir, and is going to marry you, she should know all. I'm always in the habit of telling Sophy my troubles, and she gives me the best of advice. Every woman is not so unreasonable as my mother, Mr. Hendle."

Anxious as he was, Rupert could not help smiling.

"I trust not," he said at length, and sat down quietly. "Well, Kit, you are more shrewd than I gave you credit for being. Perhaps you can help me, after all. Let us take advantage of the hour before the ladies arrive to go into the matter."

"You must be quite frank with me, sir, you know."

"That is only fair. Yes. I shall be quite frank. Take a cigarette, Kit, and listen carefully to what I have to say."

Shortly Rupert had his pipe and Kit a cigarette. The door and windows being closed, Hendle felt quite secure, as it was unlikely that Mrs. Beatson would indulge in eavesdropping again, seeing what a severe lesson she had received. Hendle related slowly all that had happened, and supplied details missing in the story of Mrs. Beatson. He ended with a short sketch of his present position, and the difficulty he found in deciding what action to take. Kit was so interested in what was said that he allowed his cigarette to go out, and when the story was ended stared tongue-tied at the Squire. Rupert laughed at the expression on the boy's face.

"You seem as perplexed as I am," he remarked with a shrug.

"I don't think that I am perplexed," said Kit slowly and relighting his cigarette; "only I am astonished that you have not spotted the right man who murdered the vicar."

"Things are too muddled for me to spot anyone," replied Hendle dryly. "My cousin accuses me; Mr. Carrington accuses your mother."

"It is ridiculous for you or my mother to be accused," said Kit quietly. "My mother hasn't the pluck to kill a fly in spite of her tempers, and you----"

Kit laughed. "What bosh! I'd as soon believe Sophy was guilty."

"Well, only your mother and I and my cousin knew about the will before----"

"Mr. Carrington knew."

"Oh, yes. But he was in town on the night Leigh was killed, so----"

"He was not in town," interrupted Kit sharply. "He was in Barship."

Hendle dropped his pipe and stared. "Are you sure of what you are saying?"

"You can ask Dr. Tollart if you doubt me."

"Dr. Tollart!" echoed Hendle, much surprised. "What does he know?"

"He came down on the evening when the vicar was murdered, and saw Mr. Carrington both on the Liverpool Street platform and on the Barship platform."

"Did he speak to him?"

"No. He told Sophy that Mr. Carrington had come down, but that he had traveled in another carriage. After all," went on Beatson thoughtfully, "there was no reason why the doctor should speak. He had only seen Mr. Carrington once when he called on him to get a cure for his toothache."

"Yes. I remember he went to see the doctor when he first came," replied Rupert mechanically. "I was in the church with Miss Mallien, and Carrington, on his way back to The Big House, looked in about his tooth on Tollart." He paused, then continued: "What train was it?"

"The one which leaves Liverpool Street at eight."

"That arrives here at a quarter past nine," said Hendle meditatively.

"Yes, and as the vicar was murdered at eleven, Mr. Carrington had plenty of time to make his plans."

"I can't believe that Carrington is the assassin," muttered Hendle, in dismay, for he dreaded lest he should prove the accusation to be true. "Did Dr. Tollart connect Carrington with the murder?"

"No. If he had, he would have spoken out. He took little notice of Mr. Carrington, thinking he was coming down on a visit to you. And as Mr. Carrington was with you the next day, of course the doctor believed that it was as he had thought."

"Yes, I see. But Carrington did not come on that night. He came by the midday train next day."

"The doctor didn't know that," said Kit, nodding; "in fact, he thought no more about the matter after he told Sophy, and he only told her as a piece of gossip, you understand."

"Yes! yes! I see that, as Carrington was with me the next day, his presence in the eight o'clock train on the previous night would arouse no suspicion in Tollart's mind. Still, his being at Barship on that night doesn't mean that he killed the vicar."

"Well," said Kit, with a wisdom beyond his years, "I rather think that it is very good evidence against him. You had told him about the will, and he knew what it meant to you. What he said when you kicked him out the other day shows that he wants a large sum of money. He intended perhaps to stun the vicar and get the will, so as to make his terms with you; but the vicar, having heart disease, died straightway. For that reason Mr. Carrington buried the will, and sent an anonymous letter to my mother."

"But Mr. Carrington did not know where the sundial was. How, then, could he find it in the nighttime, hidden as it was among the bushes?"

"Oh, I can't explain everything," said Beatson frankly; "but you must admit, sir, that it is odd Mr. Carrington should have been in Barship on the night of the murder, without saying a word to you. If his intentions had been innocent, he would have come for the night to you."

"True enough, Kit. I wonder where he did spend the night?"

Kit shrugged his shoulders. "You will have to ask him that. I really believe that he is the guilty person."

"But what about that opal in the matrix which belongs to my cousin? It was found by me on the verge of the hole where the will was buried."

"Did you find it?"

"Well, no. It was Carrington who pointed it out glittering among the grasses. I merely picked it up."

"Well," said Kit, with a judicial air, "the person who loses generally manages to find. How do you know that Mr. Carrington didn't drop the opal there when your back was turned?"

"You are very rapidly weaving a rope for the man's neck," observed Hendle dryly. "After all, we are taking a great deal for granted."

"Well, sir, all you have to do is to ask Mr. Carrington to explain."

"Humph! That will be awkward, considering we are declared enemies. However, we shall see. I think it will be best to speak to my cousin first."

Kit agreed with this suggestion and then held his tongue. He had said all that he could say, and having placed the Squire on his guard, there was nothing more to be done. Rupert himself did not pursue the conversation further, but walked up and down, musing over what he had heard. For quite five minutes there was silence, and then Dorinda made her appearance, followed by Miss Tollart. The girl looked very pale and anxious.

"What does all this mean, Rupert?" she asked nervously.

"All what?"

"Sophy has told me a strange story," said Dorinda, taking a seat, "and I suppose Kit has told it to you also."

Hendle nodded. "Yes. I know that Carrington was in Barship on the night when Leigh was murdered--unless, of course, Dr. Tollart has made a mistake."

"My father made no mistake," struck in Sophy, flushing, for she guessed that the Squire was hinting at the doctor's infirmity. "He was quite sober when he came home on that night. I was waiting up for him. He mentioned in quite a casual way that Mr. Carrington had traveled down by the same train, and neither of us thought anything more about the matter, even when we heard next morning about the murder. We thought that Mr. Carrington had come down to see you, Squire, and he certainly was with you the next day."

"He was," admitted Rupert quietly, "and his being with me made you believe that what you thought was true. Is it not so?"

"In a way. But the real truth is that neither my father nor myself thought anything at all about the matter. Only Mrs. Beatson's hint that Mr. Carrington might possibly be guilty made me remember."

"Do you think that the man is guilty?" asked Rupert quickly.

Sophy bent her dark brows in a frown and reflected. "I couldn't go into a witness box and swear that he committed the murder," she observed; "but he came down to Barship on that night, and if he did not stay with you, Mr. Hendle, he must have had some strong reason to keep his visit a secret."

"Your father can swear to this visit?"

"Yes. I asked him again if he remembered Mr. Carrington coming down, and he said that he could. Of course," added Sophy significantly, "I had to ask the question in a way not likely to arouse my father's suspicions as to why it was asked. It is no use letting him know too much, as he might talk. But if necessary he can prove what he told me."

Dorinda shivered. "I never liked Mr. Carrington," she observed. "All the same, I can't believe that he murdered Mr. Leigh."

"Some one must have murdered him," said Kit, a trifle dryly; "and why not Mr. Carrington, rather than your father, or the Squire? For my part, going by what Mr. Hendle has told me, I believe Mr. Carrington is guilty."

"How are we going to prove him to be guilty?"

"Well," said Rupert doubtfully, "I see no way save asking him to explain why he came down to Barship on that night. Unless he gives a reasonable excuse, he will be in danger of being arrested."

"But, Rupert, in that case my father will be in danger."

"How so?"

"Don't you know that Mr. Carrington sent for my father the other day, and had an interview with him at The Hendle Arms?"

"No. What did he wish to see your father about?"

"He threatened to accuse him of committing the crime, so as to gain possession of the will. I don't know exactly what passed," went on Dorinda anxiously, "as my father told me little. All he really said was that he was in danger of being arrested, because Mr. Carrington could give evidence against him, which would be difficult to disprove."

"But your father surely did not admit that he was guilty, Dorinda?"

"Certainly not," cried the girl, flushing indignantly. "How can you suggest such a thing? But as Mr. Carrington wants money he is ready to say anything or do anything likely to force my father into paying him to hold his tongue."

Rupert smiled grimly. "Carrington knows that your father has not sufficient money to pay him what he wants."

"What does he want?" asked Sophy, looking up.

"Five thousand pounds was the price he demanded from me," said Hendle, "and I don't think he'll take a penny less from Mr. Mallien. But in order to get the money Carrington will have to wait until my cousin is in possession of my property. Until then you can be sure, Dorinda, that he will take no steps to make things uncomfortable."

"No, I think you are right," murmured Miss Mallien, greatly relieved. "But what is best to be done?"

"I have already made up my mind. In the first place I shall see your father and learn exactly what took place at this interview. Afterwards we can have a talk with Carrington. Then he will----"

"Oh, let the will alone until we learn the truth about this murder," urged Dorinda anxiously. "To clear my father from all chance of being accused is the first thing to be done. See my father, Rupert; perhaps he will be more frank with you than he was with me."

"He must be frank if he wants to save himself," said Sophy bluntly. "Don't worry, Dorinda. My opinion is that we should give Mr. Carrington plenty of rope with which to hang himself. When he is fully committed, then we can turn the tables on him by saying what we know of his presence in Barship on the night of the murder. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not exactly afraid," said Dorinda slowly, "but the suspense is very trying, with Mr. Carrington working in the dark."

"We'll force him to come out into the open, Miss Mallien," said Kit resolutely; "then he will have to defend himself, and won't have time to accuse other people. He shan't have everything his own way, anyhow."

"Hear! hear!" cried Sophy, clapping her hands. "You're a brick, Kit. For my part I believe that Mr. Carrington has only to be faced boldly to bring him to his knees."

Rupert shook his head. "He can do some damage before he is forced to take up that position."

"What does it matter, so long as the damage won't be lasting?" said Dorinda impatiently. "I am certain that my father is innocent."

"And so am I," finished Hendle with a shrug; "so there only remains Carrington as the possible criminal. Well, we shall see. Anyhow, as he won't move until my cousin is in possession of the property, we have ample time to arrange what is best to be done. Meantime let us keep what we know to ourselves."

"But what about Mrs. Beatson?" hesitated Sophy, glancing at Kit.

"Mrs. Beatson," said Rupert, grimly polite, "is going away for a holiday, and if she hears of a better situation she will not return here."

"I'm glad of that, Squire!" and Sophy, guessing the plan which was to save the housekeeper's pride, felt greatly relieved. Little as she liked her future mother-in-law, she did not wish to see her disgraced. "And now I think Kit had better take me home."

"But I have more to say," began Kit anxiously, only to be silenced by Sophy.

"No, you haven't," she declared imperiously, and marched him to the door. "You have given the Squire quite enough to think about"; then she sank her voice to scold: "Don't be a fool. They want to be alone!"

"Oh!" murmured Kit, "I see"; and he submitted to be led away.